


For Better or For Worse

by kolvina



Series: Under My Skin [1]
Category: DC Extended Universe, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bruce Wayne is So Done, Chocolate Milk, Jerome Never Died in Season 4, M/M, No Man's Land, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27363430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kolvina/pseuds/kolvina
Summary: With Gotham in ruins, Bruce can't help but feel more and more hopeless as the days pass. Jeremiah Valeska is dead, Selina is on her power trip from killing him and Alfred is still missing.Worst of all, for whatever reason, Jerome Valeska is sitting in his apartment, drinking out of his favorite mug with a smirk on his face. He really needed to get better locks.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne (mentioned), Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Series: Under My Skin [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998613
Comments: 4
Kudos: 95





	For Better or For Worse

Bruce Wayne is not having a great day. Anyone in a fifteen mile radius from him could probably confirm that fact. With Selina on her power trip from killing Jeremiah, and the city still being in ruins, Bruce honestly wasn’t having a great time, understandably. And now, Alfred had gone missing. The GCPD were trying their hardest to track down his butler, but to no avail. Bruce spent almost every hour of the last three days searching far and wide, running himself ragged with worry and exhaustion. Jim had practically forced him to go back to his apartment and get some rest, with the promise that he himself would take Bruce’s shift to go look for Alfred.  
  
Bruce reluctantly agreed. Not as if he was going to sleep though. No, what he truly wanted to do was drink away his feelings. He knew it wasn’t the healthy thing to do, but it wasn’t like Alfred was there to stop him or anything. Plus, he honestly deserved a drink after everything he had been through. He was only nineteen years old, he should’ve been out partying and going to college. Not _this._  
  
Of course, he can’t even do that, he cannot even have one godforsaken casual night where he can wallow in peace, because when he arrives at his apartment, Jerome Valeska out of all people is spread out on his couch with a wild grin plastered on his face. Why? Because of course he is. Because apparently this is what Bruce’s life has come to.  
  
Bruce pauses as he first steps in and sees the sight. Of course he does, because Jerome wasn’t even supposed to be in Gotham.  
  
After Jerome had pulled the stunt of trying to execute both Jeremiah and him on live television (on Bruce’s birthday, nonetheless, which he was still mad about) and trying to drop a blimp full of gases atop the city, he had been taken out of Gotham. Well, technically first he was treated for severe wounds after Jim Gordon shot him a few times, but then again, Jim Gordon was also the one to save Jerome’s life by pulling him off the roof ledge, so there were probably no grudges there. Anyways, Jerome was deemed unfit for Arkham, which was saying a lot, and was sent to some facility in Starling that was supposedly the most secure facility in the country, and promised a lifetime sentence in said place.  
  
Obviously, that particular comment didn’t hold to be true.  
  
Bruce looks him over. He looks the same as usual, with his spiffed up red hair, angry scars, and trademark smirk. And he isn’t doing anything bad. He isn’t holding a weapon or anything, nor does he look like he’s going to attack Bruce, he’s just sitting there, non threateningly. Sure, he looks obnoxious as hell and he appears to have stolen one of Bruce’s mugs, but besides that, he isn’t actually doing any harm.  
  
Bruce knows that he probably should attack Jerome. At least question him. But he can’t even bring himself to do it. He’s too exhausted. Too tired.  
  
So instead, he just walks directly past Jerome, cutting off their eye contact as he walks into his kitchen, and pours himself a tall glass of bourbon. Considering the state he was in, he already needed a drink. But now? Now he needs five.  
  
Bruce takes a small swig immediately after pouring himself the glass, not even bothering to put the bourbon back because he reckons he’ll pour himself another one soon enough. While he’s doing so, he hears Jerome wander in, the pitter patter of his shoes quite loud on the hardwood floor of the kitchen. Bruce doesn’t even bother to look up at him.  
  
“Seriously Brucie? I’m gone for months and no hello? No how are ya?” Jerome questions, the annoyance clear in his voice, obviously upset that he isn’t getting the attention he always obviously craved. Bruce resists the strong urge to roll his eyes.  
  
“Not in the mood, Jerome,” Bruce grunts out, annoyed in return. He actually does look up at Jerome then, and sees that the ginger has lost his smile, and that it is in fact replaced by a thin line across his lips. He looks much younger when he smiles, Bruce duly notes. Surprisingly more soft despite his scars giving him a wicked smirk.  
  
“Why? Too busy drinkin’?” Jerome asks incredulously, clearly surprised by Bruce’s reaction to the whole situation.  
  
“Yes, and I’d appreciate it if you left so I can continue,” Bruce merely tells him really hoping the ginger takes the hint and leaves, but in all honesty, he is doubtful that the eccentric boy would ever listen to anything he said.  
  
“Whatever happened to a nice greeting between friends?” Jerome huffs out, practically ignoring Bruce’s words. Bruce does the same back, not even bothering to reply, not even when Jerome pulls out a knife with a flick of his wrist. Bruce merely takes another sip, and raises an eyebrow at the blade. He really didn’t want to have to fight him.  
  
“Can we do this tomorrow or something?” Bruce can feel a migraine coming on, really.  
  
“Seriously? Brucie! You aren’t afraid of the psycho with a knife in your kitchen?!” Jerome seems affronted by this fact, as if it were personally offending to him. Bruce just shrugs. Jerome pauses for a minute, studying Bruce’s face, before he lets out a screeching laugh, putting the sharp object away in the process.  
  
“Oh,” Jerome says through a resentful chuckle, “I get it. I know why ya suddenly aren’t scared of me. It’s because of him, isn’t it?”  
  
Bruce doesn’t reply again, he just takes another sip of his bourbon, his throat feeling warm from the alcohol.  
  
“You finally realized who the true monster is,” Jerome sing-songed tauntingly, a wide grin plastered back upon his face.  
  
“You’re both monsters,” Bruce simply states, taking yet a bigger swig of his drink. Jerome rolls his eyes.  
  
“Yet you didn’t even bat an eye when you saw me here. If you saw him I wonder how you’d react,” Jerome states slowly, his voice never wavering. Bruce feels himself tense, the carelessness and ease from earlier dissipating passed annoyance to anger.  
  


“He’s dead,” Bruce states simply. Jerome just stares at him, almost in a _you should know better_ type of way. Bruce did have that feeling. That Jeremiah was still out there, waiting, _planning_. After Selina had stabbed him, no body was found.

“It’s just his followers taking his body, we have other things to worry about kid,” Harvey had assured him but there was still this faint itching feeling, like he was still somehow alive. It was eating him alive, mostly now with Alfred gone.

“Is he?” Jerome is smiling wide, as if he’s giddy. He’s excited. He knows something Bruce doesn’t. Bruce feels his stomach drop. _Jeremiah is alive._

“Looks like someone has finally figured it out!” Jerome sing-songs. 

Jeremiah is alive and Jerome has confirmed it. Does that mean he has Alfred? Is he planning something? Bruce has thousands of ideas beating in his head, feeling suddenly overwhelmed, dread flooding his system. Something must show on his face because Jerome’s grin grows even wider.  
  
“Satisfying to know that I’m not the only one who realizes how much of a bozo he is,” Jerome comments with a snarky grin, and Bruce hates how much the smile reminds him of Jeremiah now.  
  
Bruce pulls the glass up to his lips yet again, but Jerome’s hand is quick, resting it on Bruce’s before he could. Bruce almost jolts, surprised at the contact, even more so surprised about how gentle it is, just barely resting upon his knuckles.  
  
“Do you want some?” Bruce asks, not unkindly.  
  
“Nah, already got something to drink,” Jerome’s hand doesn’t move but he gestures his head toward the mug of Bruce’s he had stolen that was now resting on the counter near them.

“Which is?”  
  
“Chocolate milk!”  
  
“Where did you get that?” Bruce knew they didn’t have that in the apartment. Milk in general was mostly gone because of the farming crisis, nothing being able to get into Gotham now and not to mention the milk that was still around had long gone rotten.  
  
“I stole it from Scarecrow’s territory,” Jerome says, so completely seriously that Bruce cannot tell if he’s kidding or not, “He has a full farm. You’d think Scarecrow is out committin’ crime, but let me tell ya, Brucie. He is just living as a farmer. Cows and all.”  
  
Nonetheless, Bruce lets out a bit of laughter, it’s unexpected, him actually laughing, actually finding humor in the words, it was such a long time since he laughed like that. Maybe the new knowledge of Jeremiah being alive was pushing him further into his sleep deprived stresses out madness. But he still hung onto the moment greedily, wanting the carefree feeling to not be fleeting. Yet, it goes just as it comes, and he soon finds his familiar frown on his face. Jerome is giving him an unreadable expression, one that makes Bruce unsure as if he should run or not. Jerome touches him again, this time lightly pushing his glass of alcohol down so his hands are free.  
  
“You obviously are drinkin’ to be distracted, let me distract you instead!” Jerome excitedly tells him.  
  
Bruce’s frown deepens.  
  
“Not like that, kiddo. Come on, have more faith in lil ol’ me. You must be curious about how I broke out of the super maximum security asylum in Starling,” Jerome tells him with a smile, gesturing toward the couch. Bruce wishes he could say he reluctantly sits next to the maniac. He wishes he could say that he actually wasn’t curious about his words. But none of those things are true.  
  
“Or maybe you wanna ask me about my dear brother?” Jerome asks with a smirk. Bruce visibly straightens. Jerome’s smirk grows.  
  
“How did you even get back in Gotham?” Bruce asks instead. That was the issue at hand, right? Jerome knows a way into the city, meaning there is a way out. This could be the solution that everyone at the GCPD has been looking for. Bruce knows that once he isn’t as level headed as he should be asking such an important question. But he also knows that now was probably his only chance, Jerome clearly wanted to talk, so screw his mental exhaustion, he had to talk now.  
  
“Hmm. You wouldn’t believe me if I told ya,” Jerome only responds, but then shrugs, almost looking unsure, “Although I guess you’ll see soon.”  
  
Bruce doesn’t like the sound of that. He wishes he had his drink next to him. He knows that Jerome had always been crafty, but this seems different. Jerome would usually be blabbing all about whatever creative (or otherwise known as dreadful to the general public) thing he did, but now, he seems awfully quiet.  
  
“Tell me! What has my brother been up to? Actually, start from the beginning. I never knew what happened when you two met, y’know!” Jerome changes the topic, and Bruce instantly knows something is most definitely weird. But he doesn’t push. He’s too tired to push. And Jerome genuinely did seem curious. Maybe if Bruce told him, gave him what he wanted, Jerome would help him in return.  
  
He sighs before he says, “We met because you forced us to have bombs strapped to our necks, Jerome.”  
  
Jerome cackles at the sentence, as if it were the funniest thing he had ever heard, “No, I meant before that.”  
  
“I met him in the bunker. Nothing much happened beyond basic greetings,” Bruce shrugs. Jerome is doing a hand gesture for him to go on, “He was reluctant to help us with you. I had to convince him.”

“And? How did you do that?” Jerome is practically hanging to the edge of his seat, far too invested in Bruce’s opinion. 

“I just told him how brilliant he was,” Bruce feels a bit uncomfortable telling Jerome that. He knew it was manipulative, and probably wrong, but it was for the greater good. It had to be done.  
  
“Oooooh, playing into his sympathies, nice!” Jerome smiles as if he’s proud, “Of course he couldn’t resist your charm!”  
  
“Then you know the rest,” Bruce replies, “You strapped bombs to us then hit him with your laughing gas.”  
  
“Hit him with a very specific kind of laughing gas,” Jerome corrects, “My favorite kind, really. Good ol’ fashioned placebo.”  
  
Bruce pauses a bit at that. Was he telling the truth? He couldn’t be. But Jerome looks oddly serious, and even Jeremiah had said himself that it wasn’t the gas. But that made no sense. The Jeremiah he met in the bunker was sweet, he was kind, he wasn’t a mass murdering psychopath.  
  
“I can practically see the cogs movin’ in ya head, Brucie,” Jerome comments.  
  
“I told you I met him in his bunker. He wasn’t a bad person. He was a kind, brilliant engineer. I don’t believe that it was a placebo,” Bruce says, but he isn’t sure if he actually believes the words he says. Why would Jerome lie? It just didn’t make any sense. He had zero motive. And he knew Jerome was a lot of things, but a liar was never one of them.  
  
“So... ya got a crush on ‘em?” Jerome then casually asks, causing Bruce to freeze all of his thoughts. That was not by any means the response Bruce was anticipating.  
  
“What?”  
  
“‘Miah. You have a crush on him. Or at least did before,” This time it doesn’t come out as a question. More of a statement.  
  
“I don’t know what you are-“  
  
Jerome snorts loudly, “Who are you foolin, kiddo! Kinda offended over the fact that you like him better than me, though. I am definitely the superior brother!”  
  
Bruce just blinks at him. His heart banging in his chest. He always knew that maybe there was something. But someone actually acknowledging it, mostly now, it was all too much.  
  
“How?” Bruce asks, and Jerome gives him a pitiful look. Well, the best one the joker can muster.  
  
“You just waxed poetic about him, Brucie. C’mon. I may not have that much common sense but I ain’t dumb,” Jerome says with an eyeroll. Bruce feels like his frown is gonna permanently stay on his face at this point.  
  
“So what are you going to do?” Jerome simply asks.  
  
“What?”  
  
“He likes you back. So what’s your play?” Jerome looks at Bruce as if he were stupid, maybe he was, “He blew up all the bridges for you, kiddo. He has a thing for you.”  
  
“He wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t sprayed him with insanity gas,” Bruce reminds him bitterly. Jerome rolls his eyes.  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Semantics, whatever,” He replies with a wave of his hand.  
  
“Is this why you came here? To figure out what my plans were regarding him?” Bruce lets his voice rise a bit in anger, about to either engage in flight or fight. It surprises him when Jerome loses the excitement on his face, and instead looks a bit serious.  
  
“No, not why I’m here, was just askin’,” He responds with another flick of the hand, always so animated.  
  
“Why are you here then?” Bruce feels the anger still boiling inside him, but beginning to cool off. Jerome doesn’t answer at first, taking a small moment before he says. The only thing keeping him from blowing up is the look on Jerome’s face. He’s pensive. An expression that Bruce had never once seen upon the ginger’s face, let alone his serious tone he had. This was different than before when Jerome had laughed in his face and tried to murder him, and the change made Bruce freeze.  
  
“Listen, kid. When I heard the bridges blew and criminals took the city, I immediately escaped the looney bin they threw me in because this sounds like my kinda place,” Jerome says with a dazzling grin, “while I was coming here, I also heard that boy billionaire Bruce Wayne didn’t make it out of the city, and I didn’t know if you..” He trails off.  
  
_Didn’t know if you made it. If you died_ . Bruce can fill in the blanks. He isn’t sure why though. Why Jerome suddenly seems so concerned about him. But then it hits him.  
  
“It’s because of him, isn’t it?” Bruce asks Jerome the same question back, “You are worried about me because of Jeremiah.”  
  
Jerome doesn’t respond. He looks a bit pouty at Bruce’s words. Bruce wants to scream at him. _Why? Why would you be concerned? Moreover, why are you suddenly so concerned with ME? Why even tell me he’s alive?_ Bruce is just staring at him while all these thoughts run through his head, and it doesn’t take long before Jerome catches his gaze and stares back.  
  
Bruce doesn’t even think before he reaches out, before he touches him. What if Jerome wasn’t even here? Another figment of his imagination, another fever dream, a way for him to cope with his sorrows and immense stress of the city being in ruins.  
  
Jerome doesn’t say anything, he just watches Bruce with rapt attention. Bruce’s hand travels over his face, across his cheek, over his lips, dragging his bottom lip slightly down. His scars are rough and coarse, a weird feeling under his soft lithe fingers, yet he can’t help but trace the scar across his lips.  
  
_They’re twins yet they are so different_ , Bruce finds himself thinking. It’s not just the scars on Jerome’s face though, Jerome is more lanky and thin, opposed to Jeremiah who has a bigger stature and more muscle. Jeremiah had slicked back hair, or at least used to. Now it was a harsh dark green, spiked up in the back. Jerome’s hair however was still the brilliant bright red and it was spiked up as per usual. It resembled a flame - then again, he in general represented one, really. He burned hot and rapidly, vibrantly and violently, and caught the attention of everyone around him, yet he burned out too quickly. _Live fast die young_ , the popular phrase played out in his head. Yet, Jerome wasn’t dead. Not anymore at least. He had a way with cheating death.  
  
“Have you ever touched him like this?” Jerome suddenly asks, curiosity plaguing his features.  
  
“No,” Bruce admits, hesitantly.  
  
“Have you wanted to?”  
  
Bruce doesn’t admit anything to that comment, though his face must convey his thoughts because Jerome pouts, his lips jutting out in the slightest.  
  
“He did something bad, kid. Something that not even I would do,” Jerome finally blurts out, as if he can’t control himself. He was never good at keeping secrets.  
  
Bruce draws back slightly, studying the older man’s face, but he keeps his hand cupping his cheek.  
  
“What did he do?”  
  
“If I tell ya his plans... That puts me on your side...” Jerome starts, looking a bit torn.  
  
“Since when were you on his side?”  
  
“That’s the point,” Jerome says with a dramatic roll of his eyes, “I’ve been on neither sides. This’ll put me on one.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“So, that’s boring! Me, being on the side of the angels? Hmm, I think I’m gonna take a pass!”  
  
“Jerome,” Bruce touches him again, now with both hands on opposite cheeks, “Just because you are on the side of the angels doesn’t mean you have to be one.”  
  
He doesn’t respond at first, just looks at Bruce in a calculating manner.  
  
“And are you one, Brucie?” Jerome asks, “An angel?”  
  
Bruce answers by kissing him, slamming their lips together roughly. Jerome lets out a surprised mmph as their lips collide, but readily kisses Bruce back with the same amount of vigor.  
  
It’s weird, kissing Jerome. You’d expect it to be coarse and rough, unforgiving and cold. And while it is maybe rough, it’s soft as well. It’s passionate, and almost loving, which makes Bruce’s heart ache and his head spin a little.  
  
_“Jerome Valeska is a monster.”_ _  
_ Those words were spewed and posted everywhere. From Jim Gordon to even people like Oswald Cobblepot, it was apparently common knowledge that Jerome wasn’t a good guy, that he was bad, that he was broken beyond repair. Yet, how can someone who is supposedly a monster act so gently? So caring? So passionate? So... loving?  
How do you know if a monster even is a monster? What truly defines one? What differentiates them from just merely being... well, human. 

_“Jeremiah’s obsession with Bruce is just a mirror of Jerome’s”_ _  
_  
Bruce remembers overhearing Jim Gordon say. He ignored the comment. He didn’t think anything of it at the time.  
  
“ _He has a thing for you_ ,” Jerome had just said about Jeremiah.  
  
Did that mean...  
  
Bruce’s train of thought was derailed when Jerome pushed Bruce’s body backwards, causing him to lay back onto the couch. Jerome quickly hopped on top of him, straddling him, a tantalizing yet still somewhat wicked grin on his face, “Oh, I’m gonna squeeze you ‘til ya pop,” Jerome said, his voice almost a growl, a possessive guttural sound.  
  
_Well, I guess that answered the question_ . Bruce thought to himself.  
  
Jerome is swift with his movements, leaving kisses all over Bruce’s face and down his neck, almost as if he were trying to mark every single inch of his skin.  
  
He puts his hands on the buttons of Bruce’s shirt, but he hesitates, and looks up at Bruce.  
  
“It’s fine, ‘Rome,” Bruce tells him. Jerome giggles at the response, and mutters something involving the word cute, but it’s muffled by him ripping open Bruce’s shirt (not exactly what he meant by fine, but whatever), and kissing down his chest as well.  
  
Bruce can feel his body becoming hotter, becoming less tense than he was before, but also, he feels his heart pounding, his head screaming at him, because this was Jerome. Jerome Valeska. And.... and he had always wanted this, hadn’t he?  
  
It’s quite a weird realization. Realizing he had some kind of thing for the man who had tried to kill him many times before. But then he remembers Jim’s words again.  
  


“ _Jeremiah’s obsession is just a mirror of Jerome’s”_  
  
and then he realizes himself, his crush on Jeremiah, was merely just a mirror of the one he had on Jerome.  
  
Jerome grazes his tongue across his nipple, causing Bruce to slightly buck upwards, in turn causing the ginger to cackle lightly. He pushes off Bruce’s chest, most likely purposefully letting his thumbs roughly rub across his nipples before he moves his arms to take off his own clothing. He’s fit. Much more fit than Bruce had thought he would be.  
  
“Like what ya see?” Jerome asks with a smirk, looking down at Bruce’s traveling eyes.  
  
Bruce answers by grabbing him by the back, not caring that his nails slightly scratch down the ginger’s skin, and slams their lips back together. Jerome giggles a bit into the kiss, and Bruce is so angry with himself that he finds it attractive, but the anger doesn’t last long, as Jerome let’s his hand find it’s way to his nipple and he twists it roughly. Bruce moans loudly into his mouth.  
  
Listen, Bruce wasn’t a virgin. Not by any means. He had went through his whole playboy stage. He had slept with predominantly women, but also a few men. Though, with the men, he had always been the one performing the actions, never really the other way around. He knew that Jerome clearly wanted to be the dominant one, which was a change of pace for him, but god, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying it.  
  
Bruce slowly lets their lips depart from one another, and then moves down to kiss Jerome’s neck. He lets his tongue lap his skin, before sinking his teeth in and sucking. Jerome sucks in a heavy breath, that almost sounds like a wheezy chuckle as Bruce leaves him a hickey, and digs his nails even deeper into the man’s back.  
  
“My turn,” Jerome says immediately after Bruce finishes his hickey, blowing on it slightly to relieve some of the pain. Jerome’s voice is gruff and there’s a slight craze in his eyes, and Bruce can’t help but feel so incredibly turned on.  
  
Jerome follows Bruce’s rules and doesn’t try to be gentle, instead he licks down Bruce’s neck, before finding a good spot and biting his skin, causing Bruce to whimper, and then he’s sucking, and Bruce can’t help the mewling noises that come out of his throat. He had only gotten a hickey once before. Usually, he avoided any kind of marks, he didn’t want to look bad and reflect poorly onto Wayne Enterprises, nor did he want to get reprimanded by Alfred. But now, as Jerome is leaving not just one, but multiple hickeys all over his neck and his collarbone, he feels a bit disappointed that he hadn’t done this before.  
_But would it really have been this good if it wasn’t Jerome?_ His mind unhelpfully supplies, and he already knows the answer.  
  
When Jerome’s roaming hand finally trails over his pants, right over his boxers, Bruce moans loudly, which Jerome takes as a cue to undress them further. Jerome tears his pants down, wasting no time taking his own clothes as well until they both are almost nude, only in their boxers (Bruce has black briefs, they’re Versace. Jerome has red briefs with clown heads patched all over them, they’re... well, interesting). His thoughts don’t last long, because Jerome slowly grinds their hips together, and it feels so good, so damn good that Bruce is whimpering at the connection.  
  
Jerome was always impatient, Bruce knew this, but for some reason (god fuck whatever that reason was) he is going outrageously slower than Bruce thought he would.  
  
Jerome’s fingers find their way to the waistband of his boxers, and he taps the skin, almost as a warning before they plunge into them. And suddenly, he’s grabbing Bruce’s hard cock, stroking along his length.  
  
“My god,” Bruce groans out, unable to stop himself. It’s been so long since he had touched himself. Much much longer since anyone else had touched him.  
  
“I usually go by Jerome, but that works too.” That cheeky bastard. He’s smirking down at Bruce before he plunges back in for a kiss, hard and unforgiving, his tongue penetrating his mouth as his fingers dance along his cock.  
  
He can feel Jerome’s dick press against his thigh as he leans down, he’s as hard as Bruce if not harder. Bruce is so incredibly turned on that he feels like he can’t breathe, Jerome stroking him as his dick grazes his leg, his hot tongue traveling around his mouth. He could barely register that this was his life right now.  
  
“Ya got lube?” Jerome asks when he finally pulls away. His cheeks are tinted pink and his pupils blown. Bruce thinks he probably looks similar, as well as his hair being a mess considering Jerome’s free hand kept finding its way to it, slightly pulling. 

Bruce nods at the question. When he went through his entire boozing and boning phase, he had used this apartment sometimes for one night stands when he didn’t feel like bringing them all the way to the manor.  
  
“Nightstand,” He replies simply, thinking Jerome would walk to the bedroom and go grab it. But no, instead, he picks Bruce up with ease, resulting in a squeal from the younger boy, and carries him all the way to the room before throwing him onto the bed. No one had ever done that to him, and Jerome doing it was going to live in his fantasies forever now. 

After Bruce is breathing heavily on the bed, his heart pounding, Jerome wastes no time. He quickly finds the lube, then he’s dragging both of their boxers down unceremoniously. Freedom of the briefs finally allows Bruce’s dick to spring free, and he gasps as the cold air hits his sensitive skin, though it’s not an unpleasant feeling.He watches as Jerome pours a liberal amount of lube on his fingers, and uses his free hand to push Bruce’s legs open wider beneath him. And god, seeing his scarred smile, and his dark eyes watching Bruce as he does so makes his heart race so fast that it feels as if it might beat through his chest. Jerome’s fingers slide up the side of his ass, before gliding directly to his hole, rubbing the slick substance smoothly, teasingly. Bruce is a mess, unable to help the noises coming out of his throat, and unable to help the scream that escapes him when Jerome finally puts his finger in. He continues to spread the lube in him, his finger gliding in and out gently. Bruce vaguely wonders if he had done this before, and is about to ask him when suddenly Jerome slides a second finger in, making him yelp out a high whine.  
  
Jerome smirks, humming low in his throat, as if he loved Bruce’s desperation and needy little noises. On second thought, he probably ( _definitely_ ) did. He kept making little comments to Bruce the entire time like “ _So good darlin’_ ” or “ _Ya look so gorgeous doll_ ” with a little bit of “ _You’re doing so amazin’ baby_ ”, and with each of them Bruce felt himself let go more and more, becoming consumed in Jerome and his charm so deeply that he wasn’t sure if he could ever really return. Oh, he was so screwed. Literally and figuratively.  
  
It isn’t long before he’s fucking Bruce with his fingers slow, his free hand roaming Bruce’s collarbone and his mouth still on the billionaire’s, kissing him so gently that Bruce feels like he’s going to explode. And he keeps doing that, for what feels like an eternity, and Bruce realizes he’s doing it on purpose. He wants Bruce to beg. He wants Bruce to tell him to finally _fuck_ him.  
  
“Come on, Jerome,” Bruce squirmed under him, barely even able to find his voice.  
  
“What was that?” Jerome still had that stupid grin. Bruce wanted nothing more than to knock it off of his face. So, that’s what he did.  
  
Instead of begging like Jerome was obviously expecting him to do, he pulls on Jerome’s shoulders, causing him to lose his balance a bit.  
  
As he is falling forward, Bruce quickly changes their positions so he is on top, a skill he actually learned for fighting. But that’s almost what this was - a battle. A battle between their bodies. Was there much of a difference?  
  
Jerome groans as Bruce straddles him, their naked bodies grinding together, before he lets out a screeching laugh.  
  
“Wow, Brucie, didn’t see that one coming,” Jerome continues to laugh harshly, “Hopefully I see you coming next!”  
  
Bruce really wanted him to shut up.  
  
And so, he does. He places his hand on Jerome’s throat, enough to stunt the ginger’s breathing, enough that Jerome’s laughter came out as a deep wheeze.  
  
He then slowly lines up Jerome’s cock with his readied hole, and lets himself fall onto it slowly. He breathes heavily and shudders as the burn floods through him, the pain causing him more pleasure than it probably should. Jerome isn’t doing much better - Bruce’s hand still wrapped around his throat and all, but an audible moan still breaks through.  
  
Bruce lets his hand slip a little, just enough to slightly unblock Jerome’s airways. Jerome coughs a bit as he does so, his voice coarse as he groans out, “Brucie.”  
  
And god, Bruce despised that nickname, he truly hated it, but Jerome moaning it with his gravelly voice was enough to make Bruce reconsider completely.  
  
He brings himself back up, and let’s himself fall onto Jerome’s dick once again, his hand still tightly wrapped around the ginger’s throat. He finds a rhythm quickly, allowing his hand to squeeze at the same time he drops down. Jerome is letting out low groans, and they are so tantalizing and outright sexy that Bruce can feel himself coming undone solely from the noises.  
  
He must be going too slow for Jerome, his impatience finally kicking in full throttle, because soon enough Jerome swaps their positions yet again, surprising Bruce. He has a vicious smile on his face as he pants in the younger’s ear, “Oh darlin, I should’ve warned ya, I like it rough.”  
  
And then suddenly, with Bruce on his back, Jerome’s dick is entering him again with a hard thrust. The ginger’s hand is gripping his shoulder, hard enough that Bruce knows it will bruise. And he keeps thrusting, hard, deep strokes that make Bruce moan so loud that he knows all his apartment neighbors are definitely hearing him. Bruce has a feeling that he’s going to be sore for days, and he doesn’t even mind. The whole thing has him feeling electrified, so awake and present that he feels like he can do anything, such a juxtaposition from him being so worn out just a bit earlier. It’s a bit surreal - the fact that Jerome Valeska is fucking him as if there is no tomorrow, and with the rate how things were going in Gotham and no man’s land, who knows if there would be. So Bruce thrusts back into him, joining him in the rhythm, because who knows. Maybe, in fact. there wouldn’t be a tomorrow.  
  
It’s interesting, Bruce duly notes, the realization that sex with Jerome is a lot like fighting with him. They are both constantly battling for the power, slamming down kisses on one another, desperately grabbing at each other, the slapping of skin. But there are also moments where Bruce feels his breath catch in his throat - Jerome looking at him with such adoration, with such love in his eyes that Bruce feels like he will pass out. When he leaves soft kisses on the corner of his mouth as he moans, his large hand cupping his cheek. And the pet names, he had so many, but no longer were they uttered in mockery to Bruce as they were before, they are softly spoken, as if Jerome really meant them. He even lets out these soft giggles, so unlike his harsh laughter, so full of mirth that they pull on Bruce’s heart strings. He honestly wants it to never end.

And when they finally do finish, Bruce’s hand clasping at Jerome’s back, his nails leaving viscous deep scratches on his skin, screaming his name as Jerome orgasms inside him, a small breathy “ _Bruce_ ,” falling out of his lips, Bruce feels all the tension he had for the last few months suddenly fall off his shoulders and shatter. Because in that moment, he felt at peace. _Ironic_ , he thought, that the French expression of an orgasm meant little death, because in that moment he had felt more alive than he had in such a long time.  
  
“Gotta admit, out of all the times I imagined us doing that, I never thought it’d be that good,” Jerome says with a wild grin after they both put their briefs back on. He looks different than usual, with his usual spiked up hair now slightly flopping, and his manic look now slightly satiated as he lays next to Bruce, putting his arm around him.  
  
“You imagined that?” Bruce quickly asks, slightly amused by both the commentary and cuddling, pausing for a moment before he continues, “Multiple times?”  
  
“And you haven’t?” Jerome asks with mock shock, causing Bruce to bite his lip in response along with a small shrug, “Awww! I’m hurt, Brucie! I thought we had somethin’ special here!”  
  
Bruce laughs along with Jerome and says simply, “We do.”  
  
“Do we?” Jerome questions, a bit more serious as his laughter dies out. He’s searching Bruce’s eyes with his, as if he’s trying to find out if Bruce were actually being serious.  
  
“Maybe,” Bruce admits. He isn’t sure, not one hundred percent. But his heart longs, as crazy as it is.  
  
“The side of the angels,” Jerome says with a smile, a real smile that not even his harsh scars can make impure, “Maybe it ain’t so bad.”  
  
If Bruce were completely honest he would tell Jerome that he doesn’t think Jerome is on the side of the angels at all. And he doesn’t want him to be. He likes Jerome how he is - somewhere between good and bad, where Bruce would never stop chasing him, wanting to help him, wanting to drag him into the light, craving those brief moments where Jerome finally shows an ounce of humanity, of good.  
  
And if Bruce were completely honest with _himself_ , he would remind himself of the fact that he had forgotten about Jerome telling him anything at all, he forgot they were ON different sides. Maybe Bruce was in the grey area too.  
  
“I didn’t do that just so you tell me,” Bruce wants to get that through to him, but Jerome looks unsure. Bruce’s heart feels heavy.  
  
“I wouldn’t judge ya if you did. We all do things we eventually will regret,” Jerome tells him slowly.  
  
“You’re saying you regret what you have done?” Now that was news. Jerome was nothing but surprises tonight, it left Bruce wanting so much more and he knew that he was never going to quit on him. Maybe Jeremiah was lost in his eyes, but Jerome, he wasn’t.  
  
“Enough about me,” Jerome quickly responds, clapping his hands together as he speaks probably as a way to distance himself slightly from the brunette, “Not to kill the mood, but this is going to completely slaughter it, so...” trails off looking considerate. Bruce realizes he’s smarter than he truly lets on, way smarter than anyone ever gave him credit for. Everything about him only doing things for chaos sake was clearly wrong. He had some semblance of a plan always, he did think, he just did it in a more chaotic and quite frankly clever way than anyone else. Him even being able to find his way back into Gotham proved that.  
  
“What did he do?”  
  
Jerome frowned a bit, before opening his mouth, and telling Bruce everything he knew. From Jeremiah building a tunnel out of the city straight to Wayne Manor, to the fact that he had a surgeon perfectly recreate his parents. To the fact that Jeremiah had Alfred. And the fact… the fact that he was going to recreate the night his parents died all over again. Bruce felt sick.  
  


“I need to go get Alfred,” Bruce tries to stand up but to no avail. Jerome easily drags him back on the bed, and for the first time in the night, Bruce pushes at him. He starts to leave the fantasy he was in, and back to reality where Jerome wasn’t a good guy at all, and people he cared for, people he loved were at risk, and Jerome would try to stop him. He feels even more sick all of the sudden, sick with himself for allowing this to happen. It was a mistake. He knows it. Though for some reason he doesn’t feel a single ounce of regret.

“You are not going to run into the dark zone at night havin’ no idea where you’re going runnin’ on barely any sleep,” Jerome tells him with a roll of his eyes, “You got a death wish or somethin’?” 

“I need to tell Gordon then. They need to be warned that Jeremiah is alive,” He tries to get up again, and this time he succeeds. Jerome lets out an annoyed sigh, but allows Bruce to stand and just watches him as he dresses. 

“So that’s it then? Back to bein’ a dogooder?” Jerome questions him, there is an edge of bitterness to his tone that Bruce can barely make out, but it’s still there. Bruce doesn't have time to analyze it nor answer. So, grabs a pair of boots off his rack, and begins to lace them.

“What happened to somethin’ special between us?” Jerome inquiries, now putting his own clothes back on. Bruce hesitates at the question, and thinks a second before answering.

“There are more important things to worry about right now,” Bruce responds truthfully. Yeah, he was now conscious of his feelings for Jerome. The bruises covering his neck and body as well as the ache that he felt while bending over to tie his shoes sure reminded him. But he wasn’t even quite sure what they were exactly. Nor did he even want to think about how he was going to deal with them. He didn’t have time to do that now. 

“So what? Ya want me to go back to normal? Maybe hold a knife to your throat? Try and kill ya?” Jerome sounds a bit annoyed by this, his tone back to cruel and unforgiving, almost bored. Bruce knows the ginger has issues, and he knows now that there is some sort of vulnerability involving Bruce and it must have been killing him slowly, knowing that Bruce could actually hurt him and not just in a physical sense. His obsession with the billionaire ran much deeper and stronger than Bruce could’ve imagined, and now that the connection has been made Bruce wasn’t sure if it ever would go away or if there was anything he could do to stop it.

He looks at Jerome, who is staring at Bruce so passionately that it reminds him of the only ever time he had given him that look. It was in the diner, right after Bruce had helped him fight off his uncle. He had this unreadable expression - somewhere between amazement and disbelief, and he softly spoke, years of pain clear floating around in his eyes, _“Nobody ever helped me. Ever.”_ It was so very clear that he never had anyone, not anyone there for him and not anyone that ever cared for him. Nobody ever. Except for Bruce. 

Bruce sighs, and finally does what he wanted to do in the diner that night. He walks over to the now clothed maniac and wraps his arms around him. Jerome must not be expecting the gentle gesture, because he lets out a nervous chuckle, and it takes him a moment to finally reciprocate, wrapping his arms around the curly haired brunette.

“Maybe we’ll fight tomorrow,” Bruce tells him, his head slightly burrowed in the older man’s chest, “But not tonight.”

When they pull away, he feels himself buzzing. It’s like the final nail in the coffin for the two boys. They were now bound together, destined to fight but also long for one another, there was a connection there that was unbreakable. For better or for worse.

Bruce makes his way to the door after that, Jerome slowly trailing behind. He knows if anyone heard about this event they would think Bruce had gone mad.Alfred would probably quit again, or try to take him on a prolonged trip to Switzerland to see if it clears his head (it never does). Jim would give him a look of great disappointment, and lecture him in detail about how Jerome isn’t a great guy, and how maybe Bruce should speak to Lee and get some help. Selina would probably smack him square across the face and not talk to him for weeks, maybe even months. He wonders how Jeremiah would react. He cuts that thought off quick, knowing it wouldn’t end well for anyone.

“So this is it, darlin’”, Jerome comments as he watches Bruce. Bruce doesn’t have to respond for Jerome to know the answer to the question. 

“Have fun informin’ the pigs,” Jerome laughs, as if Bruce doing the good thing in this situation was utterly hilarious to him. Bruce wonders why he is attracted to such a contrarian, and remembers something that Alfred had said to him so many years ago.

“ _The criminally insane, they seem to be attracted to ya mate.” It was just after the Court had taken him, Alfred at his side as he patched up the boy’s wounds._

_“Unfortunately it does seem so,” Bruce responds slowly, “It may be because I’m the only one trying to stop them.”_

_His butler must notice the far away look in his eyes, because he responds, sounding more tired than usual, “Sometimes it scares that you may be attracted to ‘em too, Master Bruce.”_

“Back to Scarecrow’s territory for you?” Bruce inquiries, ignoring his protruding memories and Jerome snorts.

“Now why would I tell ya that?” He’s smirking again, his usual cockiness returned, no form of questioning in his gaze. Bruce just rolls his eyes at him and quickly pulls the clown in for a kiss. It’s slow and sweet, one that makes his spinning thoughts quiet down for just a moment longer. 

“Goodbye Jerome.” There isn’t anything left to say. Not now. Because he was Bruce, and Jerome was Jerome. Their story wasn’t one of lovers — it was one of star crossed enemies. So, Bruce gives him one last look (a yearning look. If only this were another life, one where things had happy endings. Not the cruel Gotham, where the ignorantly happy people suffered, and only the cunning and dejected people thrive. One where they weren’t on opposite sides of an ongoing war), a small smile (though it may only be on the outside, his heart is stinging but that was just normal for him, wasn’t it?) and then he walks out the door, leaving the ginger behind. 

If he didn’t leave as fast as he did, he would’ve heard Jerome’s slight chuckle, and his ominous, “ _See ya soon, Brucie_.” Paired with a gigantic grin on his face.

Instead, he ignorantly and quickly moved along, and allowed himself one final small (though aching) smile as he makes his way through the darkened streets of the green zone. He could worry about Jerome later. But for now, he had work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a quick oneshot for a potential series that spiraled a bit out of control. It really all started with the idea of Scarecrow being a farmer in No Man's Land and Jerome gettin' straight zooted on the chocolate milk. I decided to post it today as a potential stress reliever for this upcoming election. 
> 
> If you wanna talk to me about this or Gotham you can find me on twitter at @jermvaleska. >:)


End file.
